


Each One Believing

by Ashmiliutave



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BoFA, Fix it...or is it?, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major book spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-06
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-10 13:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashmiliutave/pseuds/Ashmiliutave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo dared not dream that Thorin was still alive… until he got a letter. By the virtue of all that was good in this gracious world, Thorin Oakenshield was still alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Familiar Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here we are: my first multi-chapter Thilbo ficlet! This one will not be long, but provided it is well received, it will not be my last foray beyond the world of one-shots.

Crisp dew settled on the newly sprouted grass in the Shire. The sun could be seen peeking up beyond the horizon, just beginning to spread warmth across the rolling hills. The warbling of various feathered creatures carried softly through the still air, announcing the start of a new day. Early as it was, this day held promise for being lovely. As a rule, spring time in the Shire was always lovely. Bilbo couldn’t agree more. He sat on his bench pulling happily on his pipe, watching the quiet world of the Shire unfold in front of him. After his great adventure, he developed the habit of rising early in the morning. Now, with no pressing business he was free to sit and enjoy the solitude that the early morning afforded him. 

Queer, the folk of the Shire thought him when he left with a company of dwarves and one meddling wizard; even queerer that he returned. Bilbo thought nothing of them or how they considered him. He was content to settle back in to his comfortable life in Hobbiton, but Gandalf had spoken the truth when he told Bilbo that if he returned he would not be the same Hobbit as when he left. The well-traveled Halfling had his armchair and his books, he had breakfast, second breakfast, elevenses, and all the other meals of the day that he had not been allotted on his journey, and he was back to his home. All of these things practically defined happiness for a hobbit, and so Bilbo called himself happy. 

But oddly enough it occurred to him, as he saw a familiar grey hat cresting the hill to Bag End, that the cheerful feeling that rose in his bosom was not simple anticipation of seeing his friend. No, Bilbo felt a surge of hope that the approaching Istar would call him to another adventure. He realised that his wanderlust was not quite satisfied and that quietly dismantled the happy-Bilbo façade. The hobbit had little time to ponder this revelation, for presently Gandalf drew nearer.

“Gandalf!” Bilbo greeted as his friend came fully into sight.

“My dear Bilbo, it is wonderful to see you again!” Gandalf gave his salutations. 

After a quick embrace, Bilbo asked, “What brings you to the Shire, so soon after having left?”

Indeed, Gandalf had accompanied Bilbo on his return journey from Erebor not many months ago. “It seems a small matter of importance has spurred me here today. But it is neither the appropriate time of day nor place to discuss such things. A proper hobbit such as yourself should have breakfast begun!” The grey wizard winked at his small friend; the latter part of his speech being made in jest, though he did hope for something to eat.

Bilbo jumped up in a hurry. “Of course! Where are my manners? Seems I left them in…” Erebor, he almost said, but the thought wrenched him and grief gripped his heart. “With, with the dwarves.” The hobbit stumbled over his words as he thought of his former companions. If he were honest with himself, he had tried to push out the painful memories of losing Thorin Oakenshield, which meant not thinking of any dwarves whatsoever. There were many happy memories to speak of, with regards to their journey and the company, but the sadness was too great of yet to easily speak openly of that time and those folk. 

This slip in speech did not go unnoticed by Gandalf, but he followed the short fellow into the cozy hobbit hole as if nothing of the sort had passed. The home was just as Gandalf remembered, warm and welcoming, if not a tad large for a bachelor-hobbit, such as Bilbo was. Not too large though, for a merry gathering. A smile played on the wizard’s lips as he fondly recalled the first meeting of the company as a whole. Thorin had been so stubborn and Gandalf had needed to counsel him beyond Bilbo’s knowledge before that fateful day of their first encounter. He wandered about the dwelling humming softly as he pondered this thing or that, all the while Bilbo muttered on half to Gandalf and half to himself.

It was not long before Bilbo had a commendable spread set out for breakfast. There were cheeses of many different varieties, apples, pears, and blueberries that survived winter storage, wholesome bread, scones, and fruit tarts. The hobbit disappeared for a moment and when he returned he brought a plate of cold meats and breakfast sausages with him. In the corner of the room, a tea kettle whistled and Bilbo steeped a large pot for them both. The two friends ate and drank their tea in lighthearted and amiable conversation. 

“As much as I enjoy your company, Bilbo, something apart from a simple visit has drawn me to the Shire today.” Gandalf said, as he had alluded to earlier.

“Is this business grave or merry?” asked Bilbo. 

“Whether it is grave or merry is yet to be seen,” replied Gandalf, his features suddenly turning hard. He reached into a bag that rested on the floor beside him. From it, he drew a letter addressed to one Bilbo Baggins, sent from the halls of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, last of the great Dwarf kingdoms of Middle Earth.

Bilbo blanched and took the letter with shaking hands. He turned it over and ran his fingers over the wax seal that was stamped with the insignia of Durin. Durin and not, Bilbo quickly noted, Ironfoot. Intriguing as it was, Bilbo hesitated in opening the letter, for he could not fathom what would cause one of Thorin’s highborn kinsmen to send word to him.

“Well, we won’t know what is inside of it if you don’t open it,” Gandalf gently pried Bilbo from his reverie.

Bilbo’s fingers lingered once again on the stamped wax before he let out a low sigh and broke the seal. He unfolded the paper slowly as if scared of what lay inside. Gandalf watched as his eyes quickly scanned the page, and then scanned it again, and again. The wizard held out his hand and Bilbo compliantly placed the parchment on the outstretched palm. Gandalf read silently to himself:  
Bilbo, Burglar to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield,  
Your presence is requested in the halls of Erebor. Make haste.  
Balin, Son of Fundin

Bilbo recalled that Balin was of Durin’s Folk and he was glad to receive word from the kindly old dwarf. But his heart sank when the letter did not bring tidings from the line of Thráin, though of that line none save Dís remained. Bilbo took the letter back from Gandalf and looked over it once more. “How did you come by this?” he asked, after examining the letter at length. “Not even you could have made the long trip to Erebor in the time since we parted.”

“Right you are, my dear fellow. It came to me through a great host of messengers. Roäc, son of Carc bore from Erebor to Ravenhill, whereupon he sent Craw, son of Crúr to carry it as far as his wings would take him. He travelled far indeed, for he did not stop until he met up with Elrohir and Elladan –who had been travelling east to Lothlórien. Both parties spoke passable Westron and Elrohir recalled your name fondly. So, he and his brother bore the letter back to their father’s house at Rivendell. There, it came to me, and here I am at last,” Gandalf finished his tale. 

“Why is it that Roäc would drive his kin to such great lengths for the dwarves?” Bilbo inquired. He recalled that the ravens of Ravenhill were on very good terms with the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain, but they were not known to be altruistic. 

“The service of the ravens did not come cheap. Elrohir claimed that the clearest Westron Craw spoke was in gloat of the many sparkling treasures he and Roäc received.” Gandalf gave pause to let Bilbo consider this, and then he went on. “We must leave soon, for Balin said to make haste.”

“Right, well, I shall pack my bags at once and prepare for travel!” Bilbo cried in joy.

With a speed not known to most hobbits, Bilbo was packed and out the door; more than ready for another adventure.


	2. Friends in Rivendell

Gandalf led Bilbo down the hill to where a stout grey pony and chestnut horse stood. They whickered softly as the grey wizard approached. From his pockets he produced a carrot that he broke in half for his hooved companions. When they were finished munching their treat Gandalf leapt upon his steed with practiced measure. He waited patiently while Bilbo clambered with less speed onto his own mount. The light sound of hooves stepping on grass was scarcely heard above the routine sounds of Hobbiton waking up. Bilbo felt the judgemental eyes of many inhabitants upon him as he and Gandalf meandered through town. Heedless of them he marched on and his smile only grew larger as he drew farther away from his home.

The pair made for Buckland, where they joined Bilbo’s cousin Drogo and his wife Primula at Brandy Hall, where Gorbadoc Brandybuck welcomed them graciously. From there, they traveled to Bree, and were met by Barliman Butterbur at the Inn of the Prancing Pony. There they rested for only one night before continuing along the Great East Road. There is not much to be said about this leg of their journey; it was a peaceful time in the west of Middle-Earth during Third Age and the greatest inconvenience was the occasional downpour. The ache of well-worn muscles had once seemed dreadful to Bilbo, but now the familiar sensation was satisfying.

It was not long before they came upon the Ford of Bruinen, which meant they were near the fair valley of Imladris. The hobbit was once again thankful that he had Gandalf to lead the way, for it was not easy to find an entrance to Rivendell. Slowly they followed the white-stone path, glad for the sunlight that facilitated their navigation of the zig-zag route into the hidden valley. The pair was met by the lovely smell of pine trees that eventually heeded to beech and oak trees. Bilbo thought it impossible to be unhappy in such a place as this. Blithe though he was, his heart still panged, for his most memorable visit to Rivendell thus far had been with Thorin. Bilbo tried to push thoughts of his late friend from his mind and instead focus on the melodious sounds that now reached his ears. 

They meandered without much speed through the valley until they reached the Last Homely House East of the Sea and Lord Elrond. Their equine companions stepped lighter and seemed to their masters to be refreshed simply by being in this glorious place. After riding some distance though the valley they dismounted and lead their horse and pony the rest of the way. When Elrond was alerted that Gandalf and Bilbo had arrived, he walked out to meet them. He was flanked by two elves that bore striking resemblance to one another and to Lord Elrond. They had long dark hair and piercing grey eyes that mirrored the features of the half-elven friend of Gandalf. Bilbo recognized them as Elrohir and Elladan, whom he had met on his return journey from Erebor. 

“Mithrandir!” Elrond called in greeting. “Ni veren an gi ngovaned, mellon.*” (see author’s note at the end of text for translations to English). He quickly embraced his old friend then stooped to hug the hobbit as well. “Welcome once again Bilbo Baggins!”

Bilbo smiled at their host. “Thank you! It is a great pleasure that I should look upon your fair land again.”

Elrond nodded affably at the hobbit, then speaking to the elves beside him he said, “Elrohir, Elladan, pray find Lobor to care for Rusc and the little grey pony.” Evidently, the chestnut horse of Gandalf had met with the beauty of Rivendell prior to this visit, for Elrond knew his name. Fox in Sindarin, because his chestnut coat gleamed rusty-red in the sun.

Merry-making and singing could be heard throughout as they wandered the corridors of Imladris. Bilbo caught the distinct sound of Lindir’s voice carry through the air as they passed the Hall of Fire. Bilbo found himself mesmerized by the many wonders that Rivendell had to offer. The architecture was beautiful beyond comprehension and the lovely smells that wafted on warm breezes could lull anyone to a state of serenity. The cool marble floors felt pleasant on the travel-worn soles of Bilbo’s feet, and already much of his weariness was lifted. The hobbit closed his eyes for a moment and focused on the sound of water cascading down the mountainside. 

The Valley of Imladris was truly magnificent. And, as it turns out, most distracting, for when Bilbo became present once again he found himself in the hall of Lord Elrond. A table with a large feast was spread out and a number of elves flitted about, seating themselves in anticipation of the feast. Elrond sat himself in his great chair at the end of the long table. On one side sat Glorfindel of Rivendell, next to him sat Elrohir and Elladan –Bilbo could not tell them apart, but it mattered little since they were seldom separated. On the other side of Elrond sat Gandalf, and next to Gandalf sat Bilbo. There were numerous other elves seated at the table that Bilbo made the acquaintance of. There also was a man, whom the elves called the Dúnadan. A mysterious fellow though he was, Bilbo felt he must be good; apart from his stern decorum, the Dúnadan was evidently favoured by the elves.

Bilbo did not get another chance to ponder the Dúnadan, for after supper he found himself exclusively in the company of Gandalf and Lord Elrond. They gathered on an open balcony that overlooked the mountains, falls, trees, and green land that comprised the valley. Ancient wisdom emanated from all living things within the valley, for there was something to be said of a place that has endured peace for nigh on two ages. Even as stars began to shine like pinpricks of light in the heavens above, the jovial sounds of jocund elves could be heard throughout Rivendell. Bilbo was not thinking of the elves of Rivendell though; his thoughts were entirely consumed with Thorin Oakenshield. Surely, he thought, surely Balin does not send word to me for matters concerning Thorin. But of what other matters would be urgent to me? Why make haste to Erebor? Why me? He tried to puzzle out the letter, as he had for much of their journey thus far. Hither and thither I go in search of you, even if it’s only in my mind. But here I am, perfectly outside my mind searching for you. Bilbo sighed, and then realized that the eyes of his friends were on him.

“Lost in thought, Master Baggins?” Gandalf grinned at him.

Bilbo had not realized it, so consumed by quandaries surrounding Thorin and the letter, but he had been ignoring his friend and dear host. “Terribly sorry! You must think it awfully rude of me. It seems my mind, much like myself these days, has a habit to wander.” He laughed thinly, a wane attempt to mask his pensive mood. 

Lord Elrond smiled at Bilbo with empathy, for he knew his heart to be troubled. “Tell us, Master Hobbit, what is it that lays claim to your attention, if not us.”

“I think of our journey ahead, but I should dare not think of what I hope to find at its end,” answered Bilbo.

“Dare not, but do,” Elrond raised an eye at him.

“Hmm, yes,” replied Bilbo, a sad smile ghosted his lips. “All I have is hope. Hope, perhaps, that my senses were cheated by some evil nightmare and I will travel to find my dear friend waiting for me.” 

Although it had never been explicitly stated in his company, Bilbo assumed that Gandalf had informed Elrond of the purpose of their venture east. It was, after all, the sons of Elrond who delivered the letter to its final messenger. Elrond was wise and the experience of innumerable years had taught him to read people as plainly as a book. Knowing this quality of his friend, Bilbo figured that Elrond could have guessed their plans even without the help of words. That being said, Elrond could deduce a great number of things from their interaction that Gandalf had not revealed in so many words; he knew that beyond all reason Bilbo allowed himself to think that Thorin might be alive, for he would not have made this journey if there had not been some doubt to the finality of Thorin Oakenshield. He knew that his friend cared deeply for the assumed-deceased dwarf, and when he thought too deeply of said dwarf he would worry his lip and trace circles on this inside of his wrist. 

Elrond felt a great sadness for his friend. He recalled his own sorrows for Celebrían and his heart ached two-fold. He offered no words of comfort, for there were none. He rested his hand on Bilbo’s small shoulder in a show of solidarity in heartache. After a moment Elrond said, “I can offer you my sympathy, but little else in healing those wounds. However, Bilbo Baggins, elf-friend, there is one thing I can offer you; while it may not shield you from grief, it shall deliver you faster on your errantry. But come! Rest first, for night is spread out against the sky. On the morrow we shall speak again and you will meet your aide.”

Indeed, the unwatched evening had turned to night. Bilbo allowed himself to be led to his room. He was very tired and succumbed to sleep more rapidly than he had in quite a long time. When he awoke the next day he learned that it would not be -as Elrond had said- the day that they would speak again as they had the previous night. No, three days more would follow before the hobbit and the wizard made to leave Rivendell. Only then did Elrond reveal his offer to Bilbo. 

Feeling rejuvenated and very much ready to continue on their way, Bilbo and Gandalf followed Lord Elrond to where their horse and pony were awaiting them. Except when they met their equine companions, they found Rusc there, but not the grey pony that Bilbo had been riding. Instead, there stood a short horse (only 15.1 hands high, but still incredibly tall to a hobbit). Slight she was in body, but sinewy muscle was apparent. Her long elegant legs bore black stockings that melted at the knee with the rich mahogany brown of the rest of her coat. Her black mane and tail glistened like obsidian in the early morning sunshine. Her eyes were kind and full of knowing, not unlike those of Lord Elrond, but deep hazel in hue. 

“Here you meet your aide, Master Baggins. This is Rochaewen – horse of birds, for when she runs it is with the swiftness and grace of a bird in flight. Fleet-footed she will bear you to Erebor,” Elrond explained.

“My sincerest gratitude be unto you, Lord Elrond!” Bilbo bowed low to the half-elven Lord, for this was a lofty gift indeed. 

“Upon the backs of the clever fox and the swift bird your journey shall progress as haste demand and how it otherwise would not be permitted,” Elrond spoke to Gandalf and Bilbo. Then, turning to Rochaewen he said, “Na lû ni a-goveninc, mellon. Galo Anor erin râd gîn*.” He placed his hand on her neck and she turned to press her head gently against his chest. They were great friends and Elrond was sad to see her leave, but he was not one to hoard friends to guard against a heavy heart. “Fare thee well, my friends!” And with that, Bilbo and Gandalf set off astride Rusc and Rochaewen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful to everyone who is taking the time to reading this! Cheers all :)
> 
> Many thanks to http://www.realelvish.net/ whence some of the Sindarin translation came.  
> Here are translations that were not explained in the main body of text.  
> *Ni veren an gi ngovaned, mellon – I am happy to meet you again, my friend.  
> *Na lû ni a-goveninc, mellon Galo Anor erin râd gîn.– Until we meet again, my friend. May the sun shine upon your path.
> 
> I should probably also mention that Rochaewen is based on my horse, Mouse: http://ashmiliutave.tumblr.com/post/56374194640/amarettomylove-have-a-picture-of-my-horse-for


	3. Tidings from Dale

Leaving Rivendell they made for the Misty Mountains. The venture through the High Pass was a familiar one for Gandalf and Rusc, so the wizard and his clever red horse led the way up into the vast mountain range. Regardless of how many times one traversed the High Pass to cross the Misty Mountains it was still perilous. They moved slowly and took to negotiating the steep slopes carefully. But the jutting cliff sides and narrow paths were not to be counted alone as things to fear in the High Pass. Gandalf and Bilbo refused to be caught at unawares again by goblins or any other fell creatures inhabiting the mountain. They kept a vigilant watch, but hour after hour and day after day all that was to be seen were high cliff walls and the occasional sparrow. 

There were times when Bilbo and Gandalf had to dismount and lead their charge, but for the most part Rusc and Rochaewen were well-served in picking safe paths. In the quieter moments of their trek the two riders would allow themselves a look at the scenery. The mountains were spectacular. They towered as stoic giants and seemed to have existed since the earliest time fathomable. It was unfortunate that Bilbo’s first encounter with the Misty Mountains had been so unsavory, for it besmeared his view on his return visit. Now, however, Bilbo found that he quite enjoyed the trip through the mountain pass. The cool air was pleasantly refreshing and the view of the lays about them could not be bested anywhere else. 

At length, they found themselves safely on the other side of the mountain. With no incidents to speak of, they made for the house of Beorn. When they arrived, the skin-changer looked upon the familiar faces gladly and upon their horses even more so. As before he was a most gracious host -though seldom seen- and fed the pair amply. Rusc and Rochaewen did not go without either, for they were fed all the rich haylage that they could desire. The companionship of Beorn was enjoyed for a scant two days before the hobbit and wizard carried on. They were pressed for time, albeit without knowledge of why it was that they were to make haste. Bilbo was uncertain as to whether they were making good time or not. 

They left Beorn’s lodgings as if a fire were at their heels; make haste indeed! Bilbo learned that Rochaewen’s name was aptly given, for when she galloped the hobbit felt like he was soaring through the air. Her footfalls were so quiet that the wind at his face was the only sound to be heard by her rider. Her breathing remained even in spite of the blistering speed she maintained. She was taller than Bilbo was accustomed to, but he felt comfortable on her. Rusc had at least two hands height on her, but the challenge was set to him to keep pace with the little bay mare.

Mirkwood was no more welcoming now than it had been when Bilbo first encountered the dreary forest. The same arch of trees ominously stood watch over the woods that were dense, dark, and deep. Although the forest itself was not too keen on visitors, their trek was facilitated somewhat by the amiable relations they had with King Thranduil. This hardly placated the hobbit as he shivered on Rochaewen’s back, going by unseen beasts and insects in the night. They passed huge sticky cables slung through the trees by Giant Spiders, and the memory of their great escape from the enormous arachnids sent a shudder through Bilbo. 

Trees covered with dark moss and black ooze loomed all around them. The hobbit thought that Mirkwood must have been very beautiful when it was known as Greenwood the Great, and it saddened him that he would not see it so. Gandalf, being nearly old as time itself, did remember Greenwood the Great. It had been a glorious place, where trees did not loom but stood proudly! The trees had their own songs and tales that whispered happily throughout, carried by the wind or by the mouths of the Wood elves. Streams flowed crystal clear and brought refreshing hydration to weary travellers. It was now quite the opposite, and if one were to drink from any of the jet black streams a deep sleep would befall them. 

Long they followed the Old Forrest Road until they reached Celduin, the River Running. Bilbo was relieved to be out of the forest, even though this trip provided an easy passage. North they travelled from there until they reached Laketown, and eventually the city of Dale. Night had fallen by the time they reached the city at the foot of the mountain. Gandalf insisted they stay there for the evening. Much to Bilbo’s chagrin, he agreed. The sleepy hobbit yawned as he noted that the sun’s yellow face had descended many hours ago. From what Bilbo could gather in the dim moonlight, Dale was slowly taking shape once more and looked infinitely better than the last time he had seen it. Bard did well by his people and they worked tirelessly to restore the city to its former height. Great houses and farms were sprung up about them, though Bilbo barely noticed. In the shadow of Erebor all he could think of was Thorin. 

Gandalf and Bilbo sought out Bard and soon found him in a quaint home he had built for himself and his growing family. The bowman was glad to see them, but perhaps a bit peeved at the lateness of their calling. He offered his abode to the pair for the night and even had room for their two horses. A small stable had been built at the rear of the home for his own horse and there was plenty of room for Rusc and Rochaewen. Bard was kind to his beasts and this kindness extended to the visiting horses. The stalls were smaller than those found in Beorn’s barn, but still very ample and more than adequate for one night’s lodging. Once their horses were settled, Bilbo and Gandalf joined Bard in conversation by candlelight. 

“What brings you back to the east, so far from your home?” Bard asked Bilbo.

“I was sent for by Balin, son of Fundin,” the hobbit replied. “What news have you of Erebor?”

“Very little, I am afraid,” answered Bard. “You see, the dwarves are incredibly private. But word gets around. There have been some mutterings that perhaps not all were lost whom we thought had succumbed in battle.”

Bilbo’s tired heart sprang to life in his chest. “Really?” He asked brightly. “Any word on who or how many?”

Bard shook his head. “That is all that I know. As I said, the dwarves are very private. Perhaps you may tell me more since you were sent by the dwarves.”

Bilbo frowned slightly. “Nay, we know less than you, it seems. Gandalf and I are to make for the mountain in the morning, then I suppose we shall see.”

“Very good,” said Bard. “I will send messengers out before you to Erebor to alert the dwarves of your visit. But come! It is late and it seems our friend the wizard has already made peace with sleep.” Bard gestured at Gandalf who was nodding in his chair, already slumbering. 

Bard roused Gandalf and showed them to their rooms. Bilbo slept very little and what sleep he got was restless. He was more on edge than ever now that there were rumors of more survivors. That coupled with the letter from Balin practically affirmed the hope that Thorin was still alive. Yet something still nagged in Bilbo’s chest. Thoughts of the great dwarf king plagued him all through the night, teasing each one of his emotions. He tossed and turned, stared into the darkness, and finally fell asleep. 

Come morning Bilbo and Gandalf wakened and ate a light breakfast. As Bard promised, earlier that morning messengers had been sent to Erebor. The pair thanked Bard heartily and collected Rochaewen and Rusc before setting off up the mountain. It was a rather long hike from Dale to Erebor, but a little after an hour’s ride they came upon a stout rider atop a short pony. The closer the rider drew the more familiar he seemed, until Bilbo placed him at last: Balin! The white haired dwarf was astride a fat little pony that trotted gaily down to meet them. Bilbo’s heart gave a happy start when he laid eyes upon his former companion and friend. 

“Hullo!” Balin greeted when at length they met.

“Greetings, Master Dwarf,” Gandalf answered.

“It warms my heart to see you once again, Master Baggins,” Balin said, addressing Bilbo.

“You as well, Master Balin,” Bilbo responded. 

“Come! I had sent for you some moons ago and I am glad you made haste as you did, but the matter still presses.” Balin said, a kind smile on his face.

“And what matter is that?” Bilbo asked.

The hobbit hardly heard the answer, for the rush of his pulse dimmed his hearing, but he was certain he heard Balin say this: “King Thorin wishes to see you”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one more chapter to go! I have finished writing it, so all that remains is to edit. I will likely have it posted within a week of this chapter.


	4. All that We See or Seem

Bilbo did not know what to think or how to feel. He had been right! By the virtue of all that was good in this gracious world Thorin Oakenshield was still alive! His heart pounded and his body quaked upon hearing the news. His emotions seemed to war amongst themselves in his stomach and chest, but were revealed only as relief on his face. Indeed, he felt so many emotions that he almost felt nothing at all. Like a great numbness threated to consume him, but might first collapse under the weight of its own resolve. He had little time to consider his thoughts and feelings, for presently Balin beckoned them to follow.

It seemed that all the anxiety and excitement experienced by Bilbo passed into his little bay mare. She tucked her head and pranced on the spot, itching to gallop as fast as her legs would carry her. Throughout their entire long journey from Rivendell to this point she had been swift and sure, never faltering. But now she seemed coiled, wound for sound, ready to spring forth at the lightest touch. Her breathing became heavy and she shook her head. Bilbo, being far from a master horseman, merely sat still in the saddle and did not fuss with the mare. Instead he tried to calm himself, hoping that it would in turn calm Rochaewen.

She did eventually settle, but it was only once they met with a treacherous mountain path and her wisdom was needed above her desire for flight. By this point, Bilbo had settled a bit too, but his mind still reeled. _Thorin is alive! I knew it in my heart to be true. And he wants to see me! I must tell him all the things I thought were unimportant on our journey; how I wish for nothing more than to wake up each morning to his face. How I long to braid his thick black hair. How I would cross and re-cross Middle-earth forevermore if only it meant that I would come to be with him at last! Oh Thorin, how I have missed you! We shall be happy, you and I. A quiver of glee ran up his spine; he never thought that he would get this chance._

After what seemed like an eternity of riding they reached the front gates of Erebor. All three dismounted and handed their respective horses and pony to the stable hands that was waiting for their arrival. After watching Rochaewen be led away, Bilbo turned to surveyed his surroundings; how the grounds about Erebor had changed! Last he laid eyes upon this land it was desolate, harsh, and unforgiving. Now it seemed a different place entirely. The grass was lush and green, if not a bit patchy. Here and there little flowers of various colours sprouted. Pathways were restored with new stones and had been washed cleaned.

Although the land surrounding the mountain was greatly improved, it was inside the dwarven stronghold that truly stole the breath from Bilbo. The halls were vast and beautiful, and while scars left by Smaug remained, much had been renewed. Magnificent walkways were carved artfully into the mountain's core. Huge statues erected in the likeness of the kings of the line of Durin stood proudly by the main walkway, guarding over the inner sanctum of the dwarves. Veins of bright gold leeched down the inner walls and, as far as Bilbo could discern, work had already begun in the mines. The beauty of Erebor was astounding in a way completely different from Rivendell, yet Bilbo thought it no less breathtaking than the hidden valley.

Balin was well-verse in navigating the many winding passages of Erebor and a fortunate thing it was, else Bilbo and Gandalf would surely have lost their way. They traversed the wide corridors and climbed –what Bilbo estimated must be- myriad stairs to reach the Hall of the King. Balin knocked and noiselessly the great doors swung open to reveal Thorin son of Thráin, King under the Mountain. Bilbo almost swooned upon seeing his friend, risen from the shadowy grip of death like a specter. If he were a specter there was none more regal than he, nor any more magnificent to behold.

Moving with excruciating slowness (so it appeared to Bilbo) the trio walked toward Thorin who sat upon his throne. The hobbit tried not to look down as they walked across the suspended bridge. Instead, he kept his eyes trained on Thorin in all his glory. Bilbo could plainly see the Arkenstone suspended above his head and it shone with a beauty that was rivalled by no stone Bilbo had ever seen. But the lovely Arkenstone held his attention only briefly before the hobbit caught Thorin's blue-grey eyes. His expression was firm, resolute, and entirely unreadable.

"Gandalf," Thorin addressed the wizard first, "It is with inexpressible gratitude that I should receive you this day. You have done well by me a second time in the briefness of our friendship." The great king and the wise wizard shared a knowing look. "May your beard grow ever longer!"

Gandalf smiled and bowed his head. "Well met, my friend. I would that each meeting be such a happy occasion."

Thorin nodded at Gandalf, and then turned his gaze back to Bilbo. Without taking his eyes of the hobbit he said, "It is my will that I be left alone with Master Baggins. Balin, pray show Gandalf the greatest hospitality Erebor has to offer. And see that Master Baggins and I are not disturbed."

With a low bow, Balin replied, "Yes, Your Majesty," and from the hall he and Gandalf exited.

The room was still and silent. There were countless things that Bilbo wished to say to Thorin, but alas! at that moment he found himself struck dumb. This mattered little since it was upon Thorin to speak first, and he had all the faculty of speech under his command. "Many moons I have seen come and go as Erebor is rebuilt. The days pass as they do. From the awakening of the first Durin and by the establishment of my grandfather, King Thror, Erebor was mighty, and again it shall be so. A colony beyond measure is being rebuilt to prosper in an age that sees the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain returned home. But now, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, you must wonder why it is that I have called you here." There was a pause, but it did not seem to beg Bilbo to speak, so he remained silent. Thorin rose and spoke as he walked toward the hobbit. "Master Baggins, burglar, luckwearer, barrelrider, clue-finder." Thorin stopped directly in front of Bilbo. He leaned down, a strand of hair brushed Bilbo's cheek, and whispered: "Bilbo. It is you who I have so missed, alone in the halls of my father and grandfather. I would have you stay with me, for it is you who have laid claim to my heart."

Thorin drew back to stand at his full height, but remained very close to Bilbo. The hobbit was surprised beyond belief at the words he heard. He remained motionless for a moment, then grew suddenly bold and raised a hand gently to the dwarf's face. He stroked Thorin's bearded cheek, and then rested his small hand there. Emerging from his wordless stupor, he said, "Thorin, I have dearly missed you. And, I daresay, I love you. I would be honoured to stay with you here, in Erebor."

Thorin let out a breath that he had been holding and smiled. Bilbo, shaking slightly with relief and anticipation, leaned forward and their lips met. It was warm and lovely and felt altogether perfect. Skin on skin revealed a mutual longing that pulsed in their veins and sailed across synapses. They pulled closer to one another as they kissed and found their bodies fit together in a heavenly embrace. Almost mournfully they released each other's lips and rested forehead to forehead.

They stood holding each other fast and panting slightly until Thorin pulled Bilbo closer into his chest. The hobbit buried his face in the thick warm furs that adorned his beloved. He closed his eyes and felt Thorin kiss the top of his curly hair. "I love you, Bilbo," Thorin muttered into the ashen mop of hair. The heat that emanated from Thorin was so comforting that Bilbo felt as though he would be content to remain there for endless hours. But that would not be so, for presently Thorin pulled away and said, "Come, I will show you Erebor, our home".

Thorin took Bilbo by the hand and lead him out of the Hall of the King. Bilbo's lips still tingled and his hand felt warm and secure captured in Thorin's larger one. The king had to release Bilbo's hand when he opened the massive stone doors. The hobbit felt something akin to bereavement at the departure of Thorin's firm grip. But once they were through the doors, he found the hand replaced on the small of his back so as to guide him through the passages of the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo decided that this was nice as well. Before they could get far, Thorin stopped and turned to face the doors again.

"You are absolved of your duties for the day," Thorin said to the guards who had been stationed there by Balin.

"Thank you, Your Majesty," the guards replied in unison and then bowed before leaving their post.

As Thorin and Bilbo walked they talked of a great number of things. Bilbo recounted his whole tale to Thorin: from his initial meeting with Gandalf, to the wonderful traveling companion that Elrond had gifted him in Rivendell, to the city of Dale and their stay with Bard, to ascending the mountain. Bilbo would stop his tale periodically to allow Thorin to explain what part of the mountain they were in, or how gentrification in given areas was carrying on. But on the whole, Thorin listened with rapt attention to every word Bilbo had to say. It had been so dreadfully long since he had seen his unusual friend or been graced with his story telling and sweet voice. Thorin hummed happily beside Bilbo as they carried on throughout the mountain.

Thorin took to recounting various tales of his youth as they struck him. Every new room they entered held old memories for Thorin. He would recall stories of him and Dís and Frerin as young dwarflings running about and playing games. He spoke of the days of old when his grandfather was a mighty ruler and a truly great king of Erebor. Thorin spoke highly of both his father and grandfather, and included them in nearly all his tales. They covered much ground over the course of the day, seeing the libraries, massive halls, and whatever mines were open. Thorin revealed more of the Lonely Mountain to Bilbo than had been permitted to any foreigner since the retaking of the dwarf kingdom.

At length, the day drew to a close. Bilbo could not gage what time it was for they were still in the mountain and there was no sun to guide his judgement. They had had lunch and supper, so Bilbo was quite sated in that department. Had he been in the Shire he would have had more to eat in between, but he had grown accustomed to fewer meals than was typical for a grown male hobbit. Bilbo stifled a yawn and guessed that it was near tea time, or what would have been tea time if he were at Bag Eng.

In one very condensed tour of Erebor Bilbo had seen much of the place they worked so hard to reclaim, but now the hobbit was being lead to some place that he had yet to see: Thorin's chambers. While it had been a wonderful day, he was very tired now and quite glad that this was the last stop on their tour. Bilbo thought of his own spacious and luxurious dwelling away west, for only one hobbit, so he was not surprised to find Thorin's quarters to be large and certainly befitting of a king. A fire burned almost to ember in the grand fireplace near the centre of the main room. Dark stone from the floor to the high ceiling was polished and shone even in the dim light.

Thorin took Bilbo by the hand to a room that was just off the main area to the left. There stood a large four-poster bed with its headboard flush against the wall that faced the door. It was made rich mahogany and carved in many striking patterns, set with polished malachite. Upon the bed, many fine linens were laid, and a striking quilt that was midnight blue, edged with mithril. Bilbo thought it looked marvellously inviting, but he was stopped at the entrance to that room.

"It would be forward of me to assume that you will share this bed with me, for we have discussed no such thing of yet. It has been a time since last we met, and accommodations can be readily made elsewhere, if that is your wish," Thorin stated curtly. Of course he wanted the hobbit -his hobbit- curled up next to him as he had imagined nearly every night before falling asleep. And while he had no doubts that Bilbo would feel the same, he felt compelled to make the offer.

"My wish, Thorin, is to spend this evening and all that follow it next to you," Bilbo smiled at the dwarf and gave the king's hand a gentle squeeze.

Thorin looked equal parts relieved and pleased. Not that there had been any doubt in his mind, but some anxiety lingered in the face of reason. He had already gone far longer than he wished without Bilbo by his side, so he looked for affirmation that he would stay and wanted to do so. Satisfied with the answer and the current state of affairs, he smiled warmly and proceeded to lead his hobbit into the bedroom.

Heedless of any other being (namely Bilbo) in the room, Thorin began to strip down to his bed-clothes. Bilbo stood stock-still. He had seen Thorin in various states of dress over the course of their adventures, but here in his bedroom it felt… different. After a time, it seemed more awkward to stand there than to undress, so he did the same. Without layers of mail and fur, Bilbo took significantly less time to rid himself of his clothing than the king. At length, Thorin stood in just a tunic and light trousers. Even in simple bed-clothes Bilbo thought that Thorin looked regal and very handsome. The hobbit sighed audibly, and then blushed a bit at the unintentional sound that he uttered. Thorin only smiled and held out his hand for Bilbo to take. Bilbo grasped it and allowed himself to be lead to the ample bed that awaited them.

The bed itself was unfathomably soft, though it could have been made of stone and Bilbo would have liked it no less, for he was to share it with Thorin and that counted best. Bilbo slid the sheets and heavy quilt back to crawl upon the plush mattress. The mattress dipped slightly with the added weight of Thorin. The king propped himself up on the pillows and opened his arms in an offer to Bilbo. The hobbit complied and happily joined the space between them. Thorin lovingly rubbed his hand along Bilbo's back, pressing him slightly closer as he did so. The very contented hobbit snuggled closer into Thorin's warmth and offered a soft moan of pleasure. Again, all the things that Bilbo had wanted to say over the course of their friendship came to mind, but in that moment it seemed hardly necessary; their actions would speak more than even the most eloquent poetry.

"Sleep now, my beloved," Thorin said in a soothing tone as he nuzzled Bilbo. "Tomorrow you shall wake next to me, as you will for the rest of your days. Should that please you?"

"Mm, very much indeed. I love you more than all the things that grow in the Shire."

"And I love you more than all the gold in Erebor."

…

When Bilbo woke he was not on a soft feather bed. Truly, it took him a good many moments to get his wits about him. His body was terribly sore and his head ached as if it had been hit by a hammer. He was quite alone, but there was a sense of death and destruction all about him. The rejuvenated Erebor with its green hillside and sprouting flowers was not the Erebor that lay before him. No! This was the wreckage of a great battle. And then it came back to him: the elves and men and dwarves! Then the goblins and Wild Wolves! Oh! What a world to return to. Bilbo struggled with this unpleasant reality to which he awoke. His dream had been so real, it felt so real, but this was the unfortunate veracity in which he walked.

On the flat stones of Ravenhill he shook with a mighty chill. He looked around and saw men and dwarves silently clearing wreckage and stumbling about. He called to a nearby man, but earned no response. The man looked up, but was utterly confused and continued with his work. Bilbo at once realised that the blasted ring was still on his finger, making him invisible to all. Removing it, he called once more and was found, though the man was no less confused. Bilbo explained that he was a companion of Thorin's, and the man seemed as though a heavy burden had been lifted from his back. From the man, Bilbo learned that he had been sent for and they had nearly given up looking for him.

The poor hobbit felt sick and weak and was in no shape to fly down a mountain. In fact, at that moment he was not sure whether or not he could even stand. The rough shape of the hobbit was duly noted, so the man scooped him up and carried him to Dale. He was set down by a tent that had been erected among a sea of similar tents. He was emphatically received by a slightly injured Gandalf who seemed more delighted than ever to lay eyes on him. The old wizard's glee at finding Bilbo was short lived, and his face fell soon after.

The words that Gandalf spoke to him barely registered in Bilbo's head, " _Come, you are called for_ " *(see author's note). He followed the grim wizard into the tent to find Thorin lying on a cot.

Upon seeing Thorin, the events preceding the epic battle hit him like a ton of bricks: the sticky business with the Arkenstone, Bard, Thranduil, Dain, Thorin casting him away with hurtful words upon his tongue. His heart burned with shame and regret, but in Thorin's eyes he saw no ill will. The once great dwarf warrior's body was spent and bloody. It matched his armor and battle axe that had been cast beside him. Bilbo felt detached from his body, numb, like he was merely watching himself move toward Thorin instead of actually doing so.

Thorin looked up when the hobbit came beside him. To Bilbo he said: _"Farewell, good thief. I go now to the halls of waiting to sit beside my fathers, until the world is renewed. Since I leave now all gold and silver, and go where it is of little worth, I wish to part in friendship from you, and I would take back my words and deeds at the Gate."_

Bilbo was overwhelmed with sorrow and as he knelt next to his dying friend he said: _"Farewell, King under the Mountain! This is a bitter adventure, if it must end so; and not a mountain of gold can amend it. Yet I am glad that I have shared in your perils – that has been more than any Baggins deserves."_

_"No!" said Thorin. "There is more in you of good than you know, child of the kindly West. Some courage and some wisdom, blended in measure. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell!"_

Bilbo wept. He wept for the loss of a friend, he wept for the loss of a great king, and he wept at the fact that he never did tell Thorin all the things he wished to say. He wept until his eyes were bloodshot and his voice was hoarse. Even wrapped in many warm blankets he could not keep out the chill that pierced his heart. He sat long in the corner of the tent that housed Thorin's body, now void of life.

For one small thing that Bilbo was undoubtedly grateful: he made it to Thorin before he died, and so they parted in friendship. But Thorin's death was still a bitter pill to swallow and it was a long time before his heart lightened.

Too soon the time came for Bilbo bid a final farewell to Thorin when he was laid in a tomb under the mountain. The Arkenstone was placed upon his breast and upon his tomb Orcrist was set by Thranduil. It was also in sad parting that he paid his last respects to the bodies of Fili and Kili who had fallen defending their uncle. Bilbo could now only elicit choked sobs, as he had no more tears to cry. The sounds of his own sorrows were drowned out by innumerable mourners who had gathered to say their goodbyes to Thorin, Fili, and Kili. Among the mourners stood what remained of Thorin's company. They surrounded Bilbo and all wept together.

Being in Erebor tore at Bilbo's heart and he ached to the very core for the return journey. None too soon did he part, along with Gandalf, and made away West. The trek back was awfully somber, and Bilbo did not smile once. Even upon returning to Rivendell his chest was sorrow-laden. He was implacable and inconsolable, but burdened no one and kept mostly to himself. When Bilbo was finally home it seemed an eternity since he had last walked there. Laying his head on his familiar pillow he closed his eyes to sleep.

…

The world seemed bathed in an ethereal light. All the hurts of the living were amended in this beautiful place. At once, Bilbo recognized it as Hobbiton; specifically, he was in a sparsely wooded field near a pond not far from Bag End. He wandered aimlessly in the midday sun and felt his spirits lifted, if only a little. The clear water reflected the sunlight, causing it to shimmer like gold. He was transfixed by the glittering water and drew closer to it with every step. Presently he was startled from his thoughts to find a figure sitting on a large rock near the water. Tentatively he wandered closer, and then with hurried steps he found that it was Thorin! Perched tall and proud the dwarf king sat, every bit the glorious monarch he was meant to be.

"This must be a dream!" Bilbo exclaimed softly, almost as if afraid that were he to speak too loud he would awake.

Thorin was no longer bloody or bruised; his hair was perfectly groomed and adorned with braids and beads. He had a stunning crown upon his grey and black hair, the only clue alluding to his royal lineage, for he wore no mail or kingly raiment. The light blue tunic was all that robed his chest and it fluttered in the gentle breeze. His trousers reached his ankles and Bilbo noticed that they were unbound by boots or any other footwear. Thorin Oakenshield was barefoot, free to feel the plush grass on the soles of his feet. The dwarf king turned his gaze upon Bilbo and smiled. Thorin had only to look at Bilbo and he could melt the sorrows that plagued the hobbit's heart.

Bilbo spoke again: "And if it is so, I wish never to wake."

The dwarf stood and walked toward Bilbo, who was now moving to close the distance between them. Once they reached each other Thorin caressed the small cheek of the hobbit. "Indeed, it is a dream and in time you must wake, but you may stay here for now."

Bilbo turned his head and brushed his lips against Thorin's palm. The dwarf's hand was calloused and warm against his face. Bilbo reached his hand up to cover Thorin's. He gently mapped out the geography of the dwarf's worn knuckles, following the mountains up and diving valleys down with his fingertips. He explored the vast plane of the back of Thorin's hand, and rested his grip on the dwarf's broad wrist.

"I wish never to leave you," Bilbo muttered.

Thorin took the hobbit in his arms and said, "I wish that I had not left you so soon".

"I wish that too, above all else!" Bilbo clenched the light fabric of the tunic in his fist. He pulled back after a moment and met Thorin's gaze. "I love you," he said, voice full of passion and woe.

Thorin smoothed the hobbit's ashen locks from his forehead and pressed the sweetest kiss there. "I love you too."

Bilbo dropped his eyes and worried his lip. "I should have told you that when you were alive. I had so many lovely words for you, so many plans in my head of how it could have been. We could have been happy together. I-I just wish that I had said it to you."

"There was no need, beloved burglar, for I have always known. A love such as this runs deep. It courses through your veins as it coursed through mine. Words are not always needed, as it were, so do not fret! It is me that you love and you that I loved. Until the end of your days this love will live on in your heart and eternally it will be carried by our souls."

Bilbo pressed his forehead to Thorin's broad chest. He closed his eyes and felt the splendid dream world fade away into bleak reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Important note: where the asterisk (*) when Gandalf is speaking to Bilbo and then all the italicised dialogue after that is verbatim from Tolkien's "The Hobbit". There is no conceivable way to write the end of Thorin Oakenshield apart from how it was originally written, so here is my disclaimer of any credit for that part in this fic. The specific reference in my edition is: Tolkien, J.R.R. The Hobbit. p. 262-263.
> 
> On another note, I made myself sad. I promise the next fic will be happy times! Many thanks to everyone who suffered through my first multi-chapter story! I really appreciate you taking time to read it.


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